Jerry of the Islands eBook

But, unlike the boy Lamai, who had known no better,
the old man did not carry Jerry all the way to his
house. At the first stream pouring down between
the low hills of the rising land, he paused and put
Jerry down to drink. And Jerry knew only the
delight of the wet coolness on his tongue, all about
his mouth, and down his throat. Nevertheless,
in his subconsciousness was being planted the impression
that, kinder than Lamai, than Agno, than Bashti, this
was the kindest black he had encountered in Somo.

When he had drunk till for the moment he could drink
no more, he thanked Nalasu with his tongue—­not
warmly nor ecstatically as had it been Skipper’s
hand, but with due gratefulness for the life-giving
draught. The old man chuckled in a pleased way,
rolled Jerry’s parched body into the water,
and, keeping his head above the surface, rubbed the
water into his dry skin and let him lie there for
long blissful minutes.

From the stream to Nalasu’s house, a goodly
distance, Nalasu still carried him with bound legs,
although not head-downward but clasped in one arm
against his chest. His idea was to love the dog
to him. For Nalasu, having sat in the lonely
dark for many years, had thought far more about the
world around him and knew it far better than had he
been able to see it. For his own special purpose
he had need of a dog. Several bush dogs he had
tried, but they had shown little appreciation of his
kindness and had invariably run away. The last
had remained longest because he had treated it with
the greatest kindness, but run away it had before
he had trained it to his purpose. But the white
master’s dog, he had heard, was different.
It never ran away in fear, while it was said to be
more intelligent than the dogs of Somo.

The invention Lamai had made of tying Jerry with a
stick had been noised abroad in the village, and by
a stick, in Nalasu’s house, Jerry found himself
again tied. But with a difference. Never
once was the blind man impatient, while he spent hours
each day in squatting on his hams and petting Jerry.
Yet, had he not done this, Jerry, who ate his food
and who was growing accustomed to changing his masters,
would have accepted Nalasu for master. Further,
it was fairly definite in Jerry’s mind, after
the devil devil doctor’s tying him and flinging
him amongst the other helpless dogs on the killing-ground,
that all mastership of Agno had ceased. And
Jerry, who had never been without a master since his
first days in the world, felt the imperative need of
a master.

So it was, when the day came that the stick was untied
from him, that Jerry remained, voluntarily in Nalasu’s
house. When the old man was satisfied there
would be no running away, he began Jerry’s training.
By slow degrees he advanced the training until hours
a day were devoted to it.

First of all Jerry learned a new name for himself,
which was Bao, and he was taught to respond to it
from an ever-increasing distance no matter how softly
it was uttered, and Nalasu continued to utter it more
softly until it no longer was a spoken word, but a
whisper. Jerry’s ears were keen, but Nalasu’s,
from long use, were almost as keen.